The Fourth Hallow
by Rae Garnett
Summary: Harry has lived far longer then he ever wanted - longer then he felt he had any right to. Death could no longer take him. A final attempt to join his loved ones saw him meeting Death once more, but instead of dying, the being sent him to another world. One where Time was her own person, and there was another so much like himself. What's an immortal to do, when meeting such a man?
1. Chapter 1 - Time and Death

A/N: Do not own either Doctor Who or Harry Potter. I'm no making any profit off of these works.

Something a little different style wise from my other. Tell me what you think? Enjoy.

The veil stood proudly before him amongst the rubble, whispers calling to him from beyond the curtain, as it fluttered on an intangible breeze. The room Harry stood in was barely worthy the name. Walls hardly standing, littered with debris and a hundred years of dust. The whispers grew louder. Words carried on breath from no mouths or faces, as they tried to tempt him towards them. To traverse the endless space beyond the shimmering grey.

Harry looked at it impassively for a moment, tilting his head to better hear their siren songs. He sighed to himself once, cast a glance at where the door was one last time, before facing the object known as the Veil of Death. An accurate description.

The wizard stretched, popping his neck and back as he did so, shook himself out a second before stepping through, stepping out the other side as though through a doorway.

He found himself in a world of white and grey, Kings Cross, a relic of a forgotten age now stretched out before him as it had once before. His Limbo, the place where the veil leads - not quite a gate to death, but it's half way there and all that's left is to move on.

Harry knew this before he stepped through and he didn't need the cries of others that had passed before him - the whispering, pleading and begging, that managed to filter out to convince him to enter. There was little left in the world for Harry, he really just wanted to move on - to see his family again and find peace. To die - as he did once before.

The decision wasn't one borne of grief, heartache, or depression - as was common. It wasn't a snap decision of rage, or a drawn out process of simply feeling empty and deciding to not sit and stew in such feelings of melancholy. It was, rather, a decision somewhere between boredom, acceptance and the last vestiges of hope and a longing never fulfilled. Childhood dreams never reached, despite his other numerous achievements.

He had lived, learnt and grown, become something great and a living legend - unseen and unheard of over time, despite being visible and certainly talking. He'd wrapped himself in the stories, the embellishments and even lies of his accomplishments as a mere teen - an armour for who he was born as, who he grew to be and now will be forevermore.

And after that, when he was but a name in a book - a man who did the impossible and died, lived and won a war that no-one remembered, he changed his name and face and moved on. He disappeared into an expanding population with the falsified birth record of a boy who didn't exist. That boy too, had lived, learnt, grown and disappeared, his name meaning less than the man in a single chapter of a book written by a dying race.

Names, faces and lives. Time, death and life, everywhere across the expansion of the known world. Humans branching into space, exploring and advancing to accommodate their ever growing need and greed.

Harry knew most of it - the intricacies of most branches of research and the basics of all the ones left. It was an astonishing achievement - decades and more of development, but he had never been one for staying idle. With the memories of when their reality was a poor man's dream, learning, advancing and experimenting was the most exciting thing he could do with an ordinary face and ordinary name.

He'd watched his world grow, break, rebuild and finally shatter - dirt, dust and the lingering traces of desperation, as they grasped the thinning fragments and wisps of magic. Like water through fingers - it slipped away - genes and abilities diluted until full powered wizards had barely the strength of a squib. Necessity is the mother of invention though, and for a long while, rituals and amplifiers were the focus. Building up and strengthening what they had, stretching out their reserves to accomplish a task with as little cost as possible.

Eventually though, the power was gone and there was none left who could see the world – who could get past the repelling wards that had long been in place. There was naught but ghosts and gravestones left of magical society.

Harry had little left and even less he cared about, having learned long ago not to become attached to temporary things. Sentiment was held in his head and in his heart, the value of objects no longer holding any meaning after so long. So, packing up his life time after time, donning new names and faces – creating new versions of himself – he started again and again from scratch.

Even now, though, standing in a world of whitish grey, waiting to meet or simply find the exit to the afterlife, he had still not left everything behind. He would return them, the Peverell gifts. The Hallows were not something he'd wanted but something that seemed to not leave him alone. They took their own faces, changed with his names and the world they lived to serve, as they had been made to do.

Wand to gun to staff to blaster, weapons worthy of the title, the man who owned them and the one who gave the gifts. Morphing over the eons. Stone turned to phone, a rune array etched in crystal, a holo-disk. Cloak changed style as time passed, always moulding, meshing and changing, yet nary a thought was required and it would serve its purpose to hide him.

Now though, they were reverted to as they had been gifted. A wand held loosely in his hand dangling to the side, stone grasped in the other and a silvery cloth settled around his shoulders possessively.

Suddenly, a figure, a man in dull, faded old finery stepped from the shadows of a pillar, materialising, whilst seeming as though he'd been there all along. Which was true. Limbo was between Life and Death - but more under Deaths possession and control than that of the other. Life was but a start, she abandoned her creation upon completion, passing over to fate to touch, have, hold and twist, until almost unrecognisable.

Death did not care though, they were all his - he would watch them over the duration, then snatch them from the mortal coil. To relieve them of suffering as the journey was over. Death would take them to his world, his home - a world that had been, but would never be again - a gift of peace and a kind of forever, that wasn't really any time at all. A year or day or second, eternity in the blink of an eye - moments that never end, for time was but a concept of death, a way to measure and understand the period in which one was alive and existed.

There was no dying after one had passed on so time was not needed, not wanted and thus, simply was not.

"He who claims all three Hallows becomes the Master of Death." The man spoke, soft and dry - as he slowly gazed upon Harry with something that felt to Harry like sadness.

Harry's hands tightened subconsciously around The Hallows, and even as he stepped forward to hand them over, he held them with locked fingers. They were his and he was theirs and Death no longer had such control, such power over that part of him as to change that. The items were a link, bonded to Harry, giving him control and power as they bound Death in their hold at Harry's command.

Harry did not want them - had not wanted them - but was now incapable of giving them up.

"I greet you Death, friend and equal", Harry said, bowing his head slightly to the being before him.

"We are not equals, my Master", said Death, smiling sadly. "You have the power to hide from me, the strength to defeat me and the ability to undo my work should you so choose. Three together and you control me, my Master

"You cannot give them back. They chose you to be theirs, when you proved to each to be worthy of their gift. Strength to lose a fight, to resist the temptation to see those you have lost, and the wisdom of not taking more than you deserve, not hiding from my sight."

"They chose you to have and hold, to master them and master me. They will not let you go so simply", Death explained softly, gazing at the three items with a kind of sad pride - the kind a parent has when their child has done something they knew was to happen, but did not want to come to pass. A trial or challenge, a test that is done, not truly to pass but not to be failed. Sad and proud, accepting and happy, but filled with sorrow and pain all at once.

"Then I wish to die, Death", replied Harry. "I wish to move on. Pass through here to be with those I have lost. It is long, long overdue", Harry said, watching Death watching him, considering, calculating and thinking.

But overall - sad.

"I believe so too, my Master." Death trailed off for a moment, again looking at the three objects with a sad look, before meeting Harry's gaze".

"The Hallows were made for the world of life and living and not yet dead, and there they will stay", quipped Death. "You and they are locked, stuck and held in the land of the living and breathing and dying - but not yet dead". "Did you not wonder why you had to walk through my door to see me once again? You have certainly not survived all these years without incident and accident."

"I had hoped I could walk myself to where I wish to go, rather than hope for you to take me when you have not done so in the past", said Harry.

"It was my last hope, that I could die a painless death as so many have before me. Is it lost dreams, then?" asked Harry. "A wish to go unfulfilled?"

"Of course, my Master", responded Death.

"Here is as far as you will ever reach. I cannot give you what it is you want. I cannot take you where you wish to go. It is lost to you."

Harry was not overly surprised at his inability to die, even though he would mourn the loss of that hope. He would mourn the chance to see his friends and family again, but he was old enough to accept it. He had lived long enough without them; he had come to terms with not seeing them, although forever was a fair while longer than he'd originally prepared for.

"So," he continued, "friend, Death? As I can have no others, would you at least grant that I may call on you and talk to you, -us forever, alone, but together, in this existence?" Death being the only one that would ever live as long as Harry did. Death would have to exist as long as Harry, if only because Harry was alive - that is, so long as Harry was, there would be a need for Death. So, Death was the only one Harry could truly befriend now. Could form a bond that would not break, wither or shatter, or would be cut causing pain and loss and moving on, to where he could not follow. Broken by Death.

"If you call, I will come, my Master", Death murmured, head bowed in something akin to assent. He held that position for but a moment, suddenly standing straight and looking at Harry in contemplation.

"You do not wish to remain here, in your world?" he asked.

"No. I'm finding myself… Bored", replied Harry. "There is little excitement to be had here and the monotony is rather tedious. I tried to learn everything I could, experimented and explored, but there's nothing exciting happening. Hogwarts was always thrilling until the end. My time as an Unspeakable certainly stoked a love of learning within me. Police work and being an Auror was good for a while, or adventuring on spaceships and discovering other planets. Studies into science and magic were certainly intriguing and even after so long, I know there's so much more to learn."

"But I'm lonely, bored and I have nothing to truly engage me. I've lived the same days again and again, with a different face and name and people around me, but nothing really changes. I thought it was time. My last dream." Harry mused, considering his very long life.

"I know, my Master", said Death. I have watched and seen your journey. I could, however, send you somewhere else. You are simply unable to enter my realm. There are no boundaries to the worlds of life you can go from here. I am everywhere in those worlds, if you would like to leave this one, my Master." Death said.

"Do you have one in mind?" Harry asked, eyeing the man in front of him.

"I believe so", Death responded, an odd glint in his eye and the faintest trace of amusement, dancing at the edge of his lips.

"Then lead the way." Harry said, gesturing in front of himself to indicate to do so.

"As you say, my Master", Death agreed, turning on his heel and striding further down the platform.

Shortly after, they reached what would have once been an exit onto Main Street, but was now covered by a shimmering grey cloth filled with whispers of those still waiting to cross.

"Take this, my Master, before you go", bid Death. "Hold onto your dreams and keep them close to your heart."

Into Harry's hand, the being dropped a necklace. Harry studied it for a second, running his fingers over the thin bands of silver, feeling the cold magic contained within. It was a symbol - a circle in a triangle, both on the inside of a rectangle bisected by a single straight line running from top to bottom down the middle.

"A last gift for the last Peverell", advised Death. "To travel as I do and go wherever I may go, my Master. Of course, that does not change that you cannot move on", Death said, giving insight into the necklace. "The Four Deathly Hallows. Step through, my Master. I believe you will find this world of interest to you."

At the man's beckoning, Harry once more stepped through grey cloth and false whispers to see what was on the other side. He did not know where he would end up - when or where and only a small notion, the slightest bit of conjecture on how. He was not particularly concerned, it would be of no benefit to Death for him to find any difficulties on his arrival.

As he shortly discovered, his arrival was much the same as when he walked to Limbo - stepping through a veil as though it was but a doorway. There was no door though, simply a strange grey sheen to the air that fell away like an illusion - mist dispersing to nothing but memory. The necklace was cold where it rested beneath his shirt, heavy with power and promises and broken dreams.

He felt the wand in his hand change, shifting and morphing to something larger and more solid - whatever it was would undoubtedly be appropriate for wherever he found himself. Likewise, the stone contorted, bent and stretched and moved until on his middle finger rested the Gaunt ring. The cloak similarly flowed around him, changing ever so slightly and losing the mercury, liquid appearance into a fairly basic travel cloak - long, grey and high collared, buttons running down the length.

Hefting the weight in his right hand Harry glanced at the weapon it held and found himself looking at a revolver - an older weapon and surprisingly from before he was born. Harry studied the weapon, knowing only the basics of them - by the time he gained any interest in muggle weapons, revolvers were mostly antiques.

It had 20 cartridges for bullets, though Harry doubted he'd ever use that many at a time - gun or not, it was Death's weapon and soaked in blood already for that fact. It was and would always be, better than any other identical item. It had a hammer, trigger and curved handle that moulded snugly into Harry's hand, comfortable and as though it belonged there.

A closer look revealed a web of runes, twined and tangled and twisting around each other across the gun to boost the weapon. It made the object beautiful - a parody and mockery of its purpose.

Harry tilted his head at the item, took aim at a nearby tree and pulled the trigger. The bullet went where he expected, and satisfied he knew how to use what he'd been provided, Harry holstered the weapon. It had registered as he moved to complete the action he didn't have a holster, but a flex, twist and a wash of magic had his entire outfit shimmering and shifting to something more age appropriate. Hopefully.

He'd appeared on a roadside, kindly dropped near some form of civilization and so Harry turned left - one way was as good as another - and took his first steps in a new world.

It wasn't difficult to set himself up in the town he eventually arrived in. A poor man travelling - moving to find better pastures. Early 1800's England, as Harry found out, was a cold and dismal time to live. It took him a few days to adjust to the old language, a week to find a job and a month to rent a place. By six months, 'Taren' had easily slotted himself into town life and become a local.

He adjusted to his new life with the ease of long practice. The work hours were long - forging, hammering out tools and bits of machinery for all the new factories. It was physically exhausting, draining, but Harry had no fear of hard work. During those hours, he put his mind to work - his mind and his magic, on an internal level. He'd been working on his occlumency and legilimency.

He'd long ago mastered his mind, but there was always room for improvement - at the moment his passive legilimency was as though standing in a crowded room with everyone talking. He wanted to be able to process what he was hearing - to listen and keep track of that many threads at a time. The ability to think that fast was an occlumency skill, but a fairly basic one - he was now trying to split his concentration to have multiple thoughts at once. Difficult isn't nearly a strong enough word, but the exercise kept him occupied and his magic active, so that was enough.

Months and years passed and 'Taren' moved on to another town - bought a horse and some supplies and moved on again. He found himself in a small village similar enough to where he was previously, and now 'Kynon' settled in for a new life.

The pattern continued for years, names and lives and jobs - he didn't change his face yet. That would come with cameras and necessity. In 1865 he settled himself into Cardiff, working at the docks to export coal with a call back to his old self in the name 'Harrison'. Overall Harry was feeling underwhelmed by the new world Death had left him in. It had been a curious look into living in a still developing world - where machines were made with cogs, springs and wires working off manpower and steam, following the evolution of invention and discovery.

Harry had recently observed something odd though. A chill, frost creeping over the edge of his senses, swirling, and pushing and calling, screaming into the recesses of his mind and magic. It resonated through him, writhing, twisting and nearly drowning him in the feel of death - a tang of forever not yet passed, now and then and not yet all at once, bleeding into the air around him.

The feeling culminated at Christmas in '69, like a crescendo, the last big rise and push of excitement and noise at the end of a well-played song. Harry had felt it, felt a doorway open - not quite his gate to Limbo, but something locked in life but not in place. The thrill, curiosity and anticipation of something new and different and unknown had him venturing towards it, following magic and wisps of things that should not be.

A phone box in blue, when there were no phones, no surplus electricity to even consider such communication, sat on the street.

It was like following a trail, a path that sang to his magic, power a faint mimicry of his own. Old, tired, alone and weary. It felt to Harry of a kind of manic desperation, agitated and wild - unbound and running, former lives, racing to flee demons that were illusions, hidden in shadows, heads and hearts.

Harry followed this trail of broken, shattered things through the town at a leisurely pace - walking and wandering down streets and roads, as though out for naught but a stroll. Town's people also strolling or going about their business, oblivious to what was happening around them.

It was curiosity - a desire to follow the unseen trail and wanting to know the route those beings had taken. Where, when and maybe find a why… What did they want and for what purpose were they here? Locating the ones leaving such a trail would be the work of moments, requiring a simple expansion of his field of awareness and magic.

Harry didn't, content to simply continue as he was. He did notice where he was going though, slowly towards the direction of the chill, the persistent frost he'd noticed. In the back of his mind the screaming got louder as he edged closer, sounds of desperation, fear and hope, all rolled into one. Malicious glee came as a precursor to a wash, a wave of frigid power, made of time and unbound death. It felt as though the world was cracking slightly, fracturing at the seams, bending and breaking and tearing apart reality.

It was Time. Time was ripping apart. Initially a single tear, but as 'Time' marched on, more tears, like fabric being shredded with a blunt knife.

Harry kept walking, pace barely stuttering, even as his magic rippled and flared out around him, sparking along his fingers and smelling of ozone, skittering from him as though in excitement and retaliation, for being bottled tightly within him for so long. He kept his eyes down as he walked, letting his long wild hair hide his eyes, as they glowed the colour of a silent death – shielded from the view of those around him.

He fought with fracturing time, magic filling holes and stitching tears, pushing and pulling, wrestling and clashing, warring against nothing visible or tangible and entirely inconceivable beyond a concept and feeling, a need to understand why things don't last forever. Harry could feel the future - felt it as he felt his own eternity, a cliff against the waves of time that was everything else - bleeding and pushing and trying to force its way through, into the now, through a perversion of death. Screaming and running to survive.

"Death", he whispered softly, a call and command for Death to come to him - to give him aid.

"I am here, my Master." Death's voice and form appearing at his side, as though he'd never been anywhere else. His head was bowed to Harry, in a show of subservience, but he otherwise looked impassive, not paying mind to the chaos swirling through the air around them.

"I'm closing the breaks, but the original is too large to do so quickly and will therefore leave a scar, so I'm going to bind it to you. Is that acceptable?" Harry asked, although he didn't look at Death to confirm a response. Despite all that was happening, he was still walking, still maintaining the pretence of being out for a stroll.

"Of course, my Master", replied Death. "It is no burden". Death flanked to Harry's right side, as they moved through cold, snowy streets. Permission granted, Harry pushed and pressed, tightened his hold on the edges of the first tear, encapsulating all the energy and power it had leaked within his own magic and binding it together. He wrapped it entirely, contained everything to run across the fraying edge and held it there.

Death joined in then, his own magic bleeding into Harrys, unfurling and spreading through the air, to be near suffocating, as he replaced the wizard's magic to hold closed the seam of Time. Harry rapidly tied the two edges together, an unbreakable link, created to hold closed an eternity still waiting to pass. As the last wisps and tendrils of magic solidified and settled, loose fragments breaking down and dispersing into air, an explosion erupted ahead of them.

The persistent screaming, calling, crying and laughing beings, filled with desperation and poisonous, spiteful hope, fell immediately, abruptly silent - mental yells cut short with realisation and fear. Then it was the abrupt, empty and ringing quiet of death. They did not belong here - in this time or place - but they were and corporeal or not, psychic or not, the blast had ended them as certainly as it would have any human, were they the target of such force.

Harry and Death continued walking, the wizard spreading his magic out to the area, to sense what was left there.

"Time is different here, isn't it?" Harry mused. "Not really yours and therefore not mine, as it was, back in my first world".

"It is", Death responded. "Once it was mine and yours as you knew it to be, but that was before - in the way of eternities and therefore has always been. Time is mine only in the way of everything's end, I still must come to collect. I have less say in the in-between. There is life and fate and time before myself and before you, my Master. She called herself Bad Wolf, in her moment of forever." Death explained, voice dry as it always was.

"Bad Wolf?" Harry responded with quizzical astonishment, looking at Death from the corner of his eye.

"She wanted to make an impression, my Master." Death drawled, a smirk curling his lip slightly.

Harry hummed softly in acknowledgement and three steps later, found himself alone once again, as he walked the street.

Two presence's now entered Harry's perception, which he noted, over the rest. They were slightly different from the other humans around.

One of them felt only slightly peculiar, a hint of what Harry now knew was time clinging to clothes and skin and soul. It was still cold and felt of ends and death and moments in forevers, but Harry could now pick out a flow - like a river moving forwards without stop or pause or rest, sweeping everything along with it and diminishing, corroding, dragging everything towards its end. There was a little too much life in it for it to be Death - time was a journey Harry would forever be on and could now identify, as it moved around him.

The other one he felt, was a far stronger, larger, greater presence and a hundred times more complicated. It was difficult to grasp all the things the presence felt of and Harry knew the only one who'd be comparable to it, was himself - with his age of memories and experiences weighing on his mind and in his heart and soul. It was the one he'd been following and curiosity led Harry to expand his passive legilimency in an attempt to catch a trailing thought.

It was… Harry didn't know how to interpret what he managed to catch. The language the man - and it was a man's voice, so Harry felt comfortable with the assumption - was thinking in, was like nothing the wizard had ever heard before and he knew every language that had existed in his home world. It was complicated, words that ran around and flowed into each other like spoken song and Celtic knots. It was beautiful to hear and filled with so much depth and passion, Harry only wished he could understand.

With it though, it carried feelings, emotions and impressions, that, though there were no words Harry understood, he knew what the man felt, if not the why. Guilt, grief, longing and loneliness, and that manic desperation to run, to go, escape, don't stop - don't look back- run. Chasing adventure and excitement, a distraction from the demons in his head and heart, nipping away at his heels. Pacing around the edges of awareness and hiding in shadows, growling in his ear and barking for attention, in moments of silence. Inescapable, but he will run or fall beneath the weight of them.

He felt, also, of time and death - time flowing around him in a whirlwind, a focal point of power and energy, bending and dancing in his path. Death also clung to him, tainted him, a layer of it ever so subtly hidden beneath a cover of life and energy and unending potential. The man felt as though he should have been his, Deaths, that he should have passed over by now, yet still, he had too much life and time left for that to be true.

The pair came into view, a man and a woman, steadily walking toward Harry. The blond woman kept looking at the man with worry painted across her face, tinged with sadness and guilt. The man was stoic, blank faced and serious as he walked, a contrast and parody to his racing thoughts and wild emotions.

Both of their clothes were obviously from the wrong era, Harry took a guess at early 2000's, so long as the fashion matched up with his own timeline.

The sight brought a feeling of nostalgia over Harry - dragging his mind into memories of a childhood near forgotten. A man in a leather jacket - shaggy black hair and a barking laugh, madness a sharp glint in his eyes and ragged on his heart. A girl the same age as Harry - dressed in muggle clothes seated on the Black's sofa, heartfelt worry marring her brow, sad eyes watching him in peripherals - as the woman walking towards him, did her own companion.

Harry was so lost in another time, another place, a whole different world, that he didn't notice how rapidly the pair was approaching.

Their brisk pace slowed as they neared him, the Doctor studying the bitter, wistful look that had edged onto the wizards face as Harry looked at them. The Time Lord found it odd and his thoughts changed track, as he tried to find a reason for such a look. He was sure he'd never met the man before and he was too unique an individual not to readily call to mind or mistake for another.

During the change in tune and flow and pace of thought, Harry hadn't really stopped passively monitoring, but it had stopped, twisted paused and bent, before restarting. Like changing a song half way through, drawing a new pattern. It startled him, tugged him back to here and now and not there or them and they'd all been gone for so much longer then he thought he'd miss them for.

The Doctor watched, as the curious, strange man broke out of whatever memories he was locked in. Green eyes blinked rapidly as though surprised - though he didn't know what had gotten his attention - pain and longing and anguish disappearing from his face for but a moment. A second later and something dark flashed in his eyes, harsh and cold, lonely and empty, but so short the Doctor couldn't grasp the extent of it. That was a face he'd seen in the mirror many times and more, a kind of bone deep piercing hurt like a jagged blade lodged in the heart and twisting needlessly at every provocation - every little thing with half a resemblance to what he once had.

The eyes blinked again and it was gone, curiosity settled onto the man before him, in every way, like a cloak - face twisting and posture straitening, leaning forward slightly as though to better see. Everything the Doctor had seen was gone, and before him seemed to only be an overly inquisitive man, who didn't know you're meant to run away from random explosions.

The Doctor wouldn't admit it, but he was glad the man's thoughts had evaporated; he didn't want to see the familiar pain on someone else.

He wasn't sure whether the man was a really good actor to hide it so well, or unbalanced enough to have actually repressed whatever it was. Now he was genuinely curious. It was simultaneously disturbing and impressive. He cast a sideways glance at Rose to see if she'd seen it, caught the flash of darkness and pain and things supressed, pushed down, ignored and better left alone.

She hadn't and was instead looking at him askance, clearly wondering why he was in something of an impromptu staring contest - a competition to see and read and know and learn, to understand the man before him as the other was undoubtedly trying to do of him. Blind as she was, as everyone seemed to be.

"You're an odd man. Strangest ape I've met in a while - and I just met Charles Dickens. I'm the Doctor", The Doctor said, breaking the silence that had settled around them like fog - the outside world seemed to rush back into perception, senses expanding out from the laser focus of moments ago.

A glint entered Harry's eye, mouth slowly forming into a small smirk as he rocked back on his heels. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking pointedly at the man's outfit and raised a single disbelieving brow. "Harrison, and I can give you ape - rather slow and stupid race that we are", The wizard responded, making sure not to allow a show of surprise at the man's voice - the thick Northern Accent having no root in his thoughts as far as Harry could tell.

His whole response - short as it was - had been carefully thought out. Subtleties of body language and interaction being used to convey what he wanted the other to see in him. Open and backing off in posture was simple, hands in pockets closing himself off from the other slightly - not encouraging continued conversation. Agree with the man, but don't give away anything of himself. Harry didn't mention that Charles Dickens was not someone known to the general populace.

The man's thoughts were whirling again, curiosity a swirling current beneath every word. Harry didn't particularly feel like an inquisition, and also didn't feel like intruding any longer on keeping the pair in this time. Time still raced around them, reaching out to the man and caressing him, flowing and dancing and racing with him as a centre point.

It was straining against the recent scar, pushing against his stitching and Harry rather wanted it to hold for at least a week. Thus, he decided to interrupt an arduous conversation before it begun, stepping to the side slightly in preparation to start walking once more.

"Have a nice night, sir, ma'am." Harry said politely with a nod, wandering off in a leisurely fashion, down the street.

The Doctor and Rose watched Harry leave, old eyes trailing after the figure before it vanished around a corner. There was something about him, the man, something at the very edge of his mind that the Doctor couldn't quite figure out. A whisper, a hint, a mere allusion to an answer for that so familiar, so painful a look in the other's eye. A half reason, for no normal man be they human or alien or even Time Lord, could have such a heavy weight within them - he'd know and there were only so many worlds to carry on one's shoulders.

Morose thoughts were creeping into the Doctor's mind once more, memories and screams of a race forever locked away - home and family and everything that he never wanted to lose - demanding to be at the forefront of his mind once more. The demons were at his heels again, nipping at his ankles and as he always did, he did once again in his need to escape them.

He turned around to face Rose, grinned at her and offered an adventure - just to see the spark in her eye, the excitement to discover something new and exciting, different. He'd try to find things from her, to smile about again, borrow her smile and joy and excitement until he once more had his own.

Harry watched with mind and magic as the pair moved on after he left, felt the man's presence sink down into loneliness and pain as it seemed it predominantly wanted to be. A wash of determination came, tentative fragments of excitement, trying to smother the guilt and pain beneath it - to override the damaging emotions.

The second of the pair - the girl - responded in kind, her own presence flaring brightly within his magic, anticipation, eagerness and joy racing through her. From that, the other presence bolstered itself, further burying anguish and grief beneath better things. They left relatively quickly after that - a ripple through reality and a hole in space, for but a moment and closed a second later. The two time travellers were gone.

Harry continued his walk home, patching up the little tearing that had occurred as the others had left. It wasn't anything that'd last forever, but it'd hold well enough to prevent the end of everything in the near future. He could easily return every century or so to make repairs, and Death would monitor it for him.

Harry thought of the Doctor on occasion after that - usually in the context of trying to understand time and death here. The difference wasn't large, but it was puzzling and something that could be used to occupy his mind.

Conversely, the Doctor thought of Harry little. He didn't want to think on the man he'd met, who looked to carry such burdens to compare to his own. Didn't want to think of that kind of suffering, that kind of mental agony. It would be too much like looking into a mirror, and there was no use thinking on things he couldn't change.

Tell me what you think?


	2. Chapter 2 - No Time For Death

**The Fourth Hallow – Chapter 2 No Time For Death**

A/N at end of chapter.

* * *

Life moved on for Harry - minutes, months and moments passing. The world kept turning and aging, growing and changing around him. Kynon became Sherman, who turned into William, exchanging William for Charles.

As Charles, Harry joined the English military when the call came, fighting for King and Country against the German, Bulgarian and Austrian. Or so they were told. Truly, all Harry saw on those battlefields were people who lived and bled, cried and died, like everybody else. He saw the beginnings of hundreds and thousands - hundreds of thousands of forever's, where other people saw victory - and defeat.

For Charles, his dog tags proclaimed his name, age and birth place, hiding who he was and is and shall ever be. The invisibility cloak erasing Harry, as though he'd never existed.

He carried with him a diary, bound in dark leather, but otherwise plain. Charles never wrote in the diary, there were people in death hidden behind the pages to whom he didn't want to respond.

On his wrist was a watch, a strange symbol drawn on the face of it. He had the watch because time is death, and he needs only to pause the clock to find himself half way there. A doorway to Limbo.

There was a rather large amount of dissent within his comrades though, in regards to his weapon of choice. 'Charles' had joined the military and the war carrying with him a Mondragon Rifle, a weapon utilised by the German. Accusations of him being a spy, or a traitor and even disloyal to the country, were hurled his way with regularity. This didn't change for months during training, but in the field whenever he aimed the weapon at someone, that person always took the bullet.

He killed more people with that rifle than any other man in his regiment, in fact, saved most of their lives - on more than one occasion. People stopped asking where he got the gun; instead it became a part of his name - a facet of the identity that was Charles Dryden.

It wasn't just the number of men he managed to kill that earned his name, it was also the number of people who tried and failed to kill _him_. For most of the four years of the war, Charles lived in the Western front trenches. People died by the thousands every day, for the gain of a hundred yards of dead and bloody ground. Being selected as a man to participate in the next attempt to gain ground was widely considered a death sentence. Somehow, Charles survived them all.

It was brutal and bloody and made the air smell of desperation and fear, determination and courage tasting of cheap whiskey. Charles handled the whole affair with a terrifying level of unflappability. Calm, in the face of the horrors he witnessed. Only at a burial did he show his feelings; when the day was done and the dead were laid to rest.

A look of sad, bitter longing would come over his face, head bowed and lips silently reciting prayers, promises and sweet empty nothings. Little more than a conversation with ever present Death. His one true friend, standing by his side; eternity stretched before them in an infinite expanse all others will experience in but a moment after they pass.

In August of 1918, during the Germans offensive attack East of Reims, Charles took a bullet and fell with the heavy lead piece buried in his chest. Charles was young and old and tired. He had fought a war for a cause - which he knew meant nothing - for four years. He took a bullet and went down, stayed down, until they came to collect the corpses.

Charles Dryden died in the mud, blood and bullet shells of the First World War. In Dover, Llewellyn, first found himself a job, then a home and built himself a life.

As always, time passes. It wasn't long before Harry started afresh once more.

* * *

Caelum Everly was back home in London for a couple of months, before he was to again, be rotated back onto duty. Caelum had been conscripted into the Military in the earlier months of WW2. Harry hadn't necessarily wanted to fight again, but many other young men had grown up on their grandparents' horror stories of the First World War, and didn't revel in the idea either.

While he could have disappeared, changed his name and face and moved, picked up a new life and not fought again - in what was undoubtedly going to be a bloody affair - Harry didn't.

He did not fear a death that wouldn't come and he knew how to handle himself, a weapon and the memories. Others would not be so lucky, so Harry would spare someone the experience, as he'd been asked to do.

This time however, Harry had embraced a part of his childhood joy and become a pilot. His life was one of radio commands, siren screams and falling bombs. It was motor oil, the rattle of the engine and a trigger to turn enemies into burning husks, falling from the sky.

His fleet had returned home for a short while and it was at this point, Harry again felt something odd. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. A feeling of cold and approaching death and not yet. Future arriving before it was meant to, breaking and bleeding and cracking into the present.

Mere moments later, another hole appeared - this one opening and closing with surgical precision - and deposited something into the now. Harry stretched his mind and magic out, felt for the disturbances, to see if he would again, meet the one who ran from his mind.

The first thing he found was an object. From what he could tell, it was small and some miles away from his current location – enjoying a quiet evening in a small restaurant. It felt unstable, somehow, as though it was on the edge of now and contained too much energy - too much time - to reliably stay within the current stream.

There was a second thing Harry immediately recognised - he felt the girl and the broken, running man moving away from a box, which Harry presumed was the blue Police Box he'd seen in Cardiff.

Now focusing, actively searching for discrepancies and oddities pasts and futures in a time when they shouldn't be - Harry noticed another presence that felt of times too soon. He didn't know how long the third traveller had been here and now, but thoughts on them were discarded as the original pair he met entered the restaurant. The man's shoulders were still too heavy, eyes too bright and frantic, as he chased his distraction.

Harry could still see it. Still feel the guilt and longing and emptiness. The need to keep moving. Don't stop and don't let them catch up. The man still thought in that strange language, projecting so many feelings and having such a complicated presence. Harry could barely grasp it. The man also still drew time to him, made it dance around him, sing to his tune as he moved. It caressed him and loved him, yet barely touched him - the eye in a storm that spanned forever, composed of eternities in moments.

However, he still had a glimmer in his eye, a spark of life and joy and a touch of mania, as he rushed into the room. Harry watched as he grabbed a microphone, pulling it up in preparation to speak. His thoughts were whirling around, fast and frantic and wild with excitement. Worry crept at the borders too, but as though it was an afterthought - like anything worth worrying about was also something he could fix.

"Has anything fallen from the sky recently?" he urges the patrons. Harry didn't even try to suppress his smirk at the incredulous look everyone sent the leather clad man.

Harry stood, beginning to make his way over. He was still curious about someone who jumped through time with such ease. His thoughts were shattered by the scream of an air raid siren from overhead. It was a dawning realisation, the stutter of the song that was his thoughts, which had Harry grinning by the time he finally got to the man.

"You should check the date next time you step out of that fancy box of yours." Harry said to him, green eyes glittering with mirth.

"What do you mean by- I remember you. That can't be right. We were in 1869." The Doctor looked curiously at the green eyed man, considering the possibilities. For how was he here and now, not dead and dust.

"You don't have your own fancy box do you?" The Doctor quizzed.

There was a new spark of hope in The Doctor's eye, shoulders rising slightly and a small grin beginning to grow on his face. His thoughts were erratic. Bouncing and excited. Disjointed with hope, ideas and theories. There were doubts and fears breaking off, being pushed aside for just a minute, in the face of a granted wish.

"Just another stupid ape. Sorry." Harry said, shrugging and smiling apologetically. No pity, just an understanding sadness, marring the expression. The wizard did understand too, but chose better than to offer false sympathy. He knew loss, pain and heartache. He knew the kind of divide that would keep you from the things you truly want - better than any other ever could. Even this man, old as he was and having lost so much, couldn't truly compare to Harry. Death was eternal. Everywhere. And the only one he wouldn't claim was Harry.

"I called you a strange ape." said the Doctor. "Not a stupid one. Now you're here, in 1941 - 72 years later looking almost exactly the same. I don't believe you're actually an ape. I'm the Doctor, by the way." The man proffered, pulling out a thin stick like thing and waving it around with a reignited, desperate frenzy. He needed another distraction. His thoughts were racing. Feelings of wishes ungranted. Shattered dreams. Lost hope and a broken heart. Guilt was seeping off every thought. Tainting and coating all the threads that ran through his head. All in that beautiful language - unbearably painful.

The demons were back at the man's heels - and Harry was going to be the weapon used to keep them at bay. Harry was fine with that. He had dealt with his own demons. Fought them. Buried them. Left them mostly behind. He knew the pain and suffering. Had an intimate knowledge of living on, when you've lost all else. The rending, tearing, shattering and breaking of both heart and mind. That kind of loss was not an easy thing to recover from.

He was willing to be someone's coping mechanism for that - an escape for the man with the shoulders too heavy and desperate eyes reflecting his past. As such, he let the man wave around his little stick, buzzing away with a light on the end of it, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Just because he was willing to be the man's distraction didn't mean he wasn't curious himself.

His magic uncurled a little from where it had been bound to his core and carefully controlled, only released to maintain his ever growing legilimency skill. The sparking power rose from him, seeping into the air, before the wizard gave it direction. He pushed it gently to the other man, guided it as lightly as he could, as little as he could, to scan the man - one thing that came from learning with the last of his race was how to use the least power to maximum effect.

Time mixed and merged around his magic, curious about the power withstanding its storm as it whirled around the man. Regarding the man, old, was the first thing Harry got from his magic. Young was the second, paradoxical reading he felt. Harry analysed what he was feeling, reviewed and checked and felt as best he could, the lingering touch of Time and Death - stronger then he'd felt on any other.

The man had died repeatedly, the sense of it thick and strong, layers of it between time - one on top of the other on top of one. He could almost tell what kind of person the man was - how his presence would have felt when he was younger as he focused on each individual layer. There were 10 of them, each varying in length and so different from each other, yet fundamentally the same.

The total years they represented had Harry re-evaluating his opinion that the man was old - by normal standards he was at about 900 years, but Harry was immortal and measured time in eternities. The man before him had not yet seen forever - did not understand what never ending meant. He surely thought he did, believed he knew the meaning and had a concept and notion, had grasped the idea of infinite, endless, ageless life - or alternatively a mere existence.

It was a distressing, painful, agonising thing to know, yet at the same time, resulted in absolute calm - acceptance of the fact stopped one from running. Dealing with your demons was the only thing to do, as they could not be realistically outrun forever - and forever is how long they had to catch up. This man was still running, trying to escape eternity and past and memories - running because he had not yet grasped forever and he could still end before they caught up. He ran, chased distractions through time, because his guilt would not follow him into death.

"Human. 17 years of age - you look 25 at least, why is that? Male - and in perfect health. I met you briefly 72 years ago and here you are again." The Doctor thought aloud, examining the readings he got from his sonic screwdriver.

"That's a nifty little device you have there. Sonic - very, very good sonic. I believe you have more important things to be worrying about though, sir." Harry said pleasantly, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

"More important things?" The Doctor questioned, blinking as he tried to refocus on what he'd been doing prior to finding the green eyed anomaly before him.

"I believe so. Your partner has run off, there's a small object a few miles away that's not in its correct time, another time traveller is in the area and of course, there are bombs falling on us." Harry responded.

"You're very calm for someone at risk of being blown up. Where did Rose run off to?" The Doctor asks, addressing his biggest concern first, planning to ask the other man a lot of questions when they're safe again.

"You know what? Just come with me, maybe she's back at the TARDIS." The Doctor said, enthusiastically grabbing Harry's wrist and running off. Harry was content to go along with the man. He had complained about being bored before, so he wasn't about to let such an interesting man leave - for the moment at least.

"Is that the name of the fancy box you arrived in?" Harry asked, neglecting to mention he knew exactly where Rose was.

"How do you know about my TARDIS?" The Doctor glanced behind him as he asked, trying to gauge the other man - to see if he'd find any answer to the green eyed mystery.

"I saw it back in Cardiff. It's not exactly inconspicuous in these times." Harry shrugged, jogging to keep up with the fast pace they were moving. "You know, I could just tell-" Harry begun, only to be cut off by the Doctor.

"Why is the phone ringing? There shouldn't even be a phone to ring." The Doctor asked in confusion. Harry listened to the man's confused thoughts, racing in circles of excitement.

"Odd…" Harry commented, he was feeling around with his magic and scanning the air. He tilted his head to the side, listening closer. There was a murmur, just too quiet to hear clearly. It repeated too, a scratched record stuck playing the same line. He dropped his occlumency shields, little by little until he could hear it clearly. The Doctor answered the phone, listening intently to the line.

"Are you my mummy?" Harry repeated what he heard, and the Doctor looked at him from a few feet away as he heard a child say the same thing through the phone.

"What did you say?" The Doctor asked, after hanging up the phone and looking at Harry with surprised curiosity.

"You don't listen anymore. Thinking, racing, running. Protecting your mind from everything by not slowing down or stopping. Not listening to everything around you," Harry responded instead.

"You shouldn't have answered that," a young woman suddenly spoke.

"What's your name? And why?" The Doctor asked.

"Nancy, and it wasn't a real boy," she said, turning and hurriedly leaving.

"Not a real boy?" The Doctor questioned, immediately beginning to follow Nancy.

"No, and if you see him you mustn't touch him."

"Oh? What happens if I do?" He continued questioning.

"You become empty like him." The woman says, entering a house where there are many other children, eating a dinner left out after the owners fled to a bomb shelter.

"Oh. Have any of you seen something - other than bombs - falling from the sky recently? Or a blond woman - I seem to have lost her?" The Doctor asked, changing tack when no more information seemed forthcoming.

"I could just tell you where she is, you know. And the other one - although they're in the same place at the moment." Harry commented, lips quirked in amusement.

The Doctor turned to reply, but found himself interrupted by a knocking on the door. All the children froze and Nancy rapidly started herding everyone towards the back door. "You mustn't answer it!" she said, desperation tinging her words.

"Is it the empty boy?" The Doctor asks, disregarding her words and heading to the door.

"Yes!" She responds, running out the back exit.

The Doctor moves to open the door when Harry interrupts him.

"He's gone," Harry says.

"What? Where? Let's go after him. C'mon." The Doctor once again rushes on and out the door.

Harry hurries to catch up, seeing as he's the one who knows where they need to go, but the other man seems intent on leading. After a rather long time running around looking for whatever came through time, moving into increasingly damaged parts of London, the pair started to pass bodies - old bodies not yet collected from the last raid, new one's having only just met their end.

Harry felt the Doctors thoughts become agitated, spiking erratically as they ran through the empty, broken streets. His shoulders were tense beneath the leather coat, pace picking up subconsciously, as though he could outrun the horrors and the memories they were dragging back up. Harry, himself, ignored the sight with the ease of practice and the realisation that the dead were the lucky ones.

"Doctor, come have a look at this," Harry said, interrupting the Doctors mindless searching, to examine what looked like just another body.

"He's meant to be dead," Harry said.

"He looks dead. How would you know anyway?" Despite his comments, the Doctor removed his sonic screwdriver and waved it over the man. Before Harry could answer, the body started moving. Slowly, jerkily at first, but eventually it sat up. The Doctor became more intrigued, waving the screwdriver around more rapidly, before reading the results.

The not-dead man gradually got to his feet, face shifting, morphing and changing until a gasmask grew from his face. He turned to the pair, head tilted in curiosity and somehow projecting innocence, despite the dirt and rags he was clothed in. "Are you my mummy?" The man asked the pair and the Doctors thoughts whirred, to figure out what was going on.

A quick reading of his sonic answered that question easily enough - some form of future or alien technology had healed the man – nanogenes - although it possibly had the genetic sequence for humans wrong.

While the Doctor did this, Harry performed his own scan, magic lightly passing through the body before him. It was faint - the barest traces of his power not even making the tech stutter with his interference. He rapidly came to the same conclusion as the Doctor, but switched gears and opened his mind again, to listen closer to the others thoughts. He'd said the same thing as the boy on the phone and Harry wasn't convinced it could be a coincidence.

The Doctors thoughts got louder, ringing through the air and Harry's skull. Racing around. Fast and excited - and so very loud. Needle fine focus, making them all consuming - blocking out darker thoughts and memories lurking in his heart. Harry took a deep breath and tilted his head back, body relaxing and green eyes falling shut, as he prepared to adjust his occlumency shields to block the man out.

Piece by piece and layer by layer, Harry built up a guard against the intruding thoughts, carefully regulating it so as to only block out the Doctor, attuning the shield to stop the single presence. By the time he breathed out, exhaling slowly and opening faintly glowing eyes, the Doctor had finished his own observations. Harry briefly missed the wild thoughts, the beautiful, complicated language, before he pushed such thoughts aside, for more important matters.

He listened carefully, focusing on the mind of the would-be corpse. 'Are you my mummy,' was at the forefront, repeating continuously through the man's mind, undertones and suggestions to ask and find, obviously compelling the masked man. Below that though, was a web, threads tying this one mind to dozens of others, all thinking the same thing. Looking for the same thing.

Tilting his head to the side and ignoring the Doctors rambling, Harry listened and felt, tugging on the thread of the man in front of him. It vibrated like the string of a harp, rippling outwards and around the psychic link as Harry tried to locate the centre of the web. The start - or maybe the control.

He was interrupted before he could finish, though, the Doctor grabbing his arm and yanking him over. The gas-masked man stumbled upon meeting no resistance, struggling to keep his balance with the momentum he'd gained in his lunge. Righting himself, he again turned to the pair of men, reaching out to them as he staggered forward. "Are you my mummy?" He asked again.

"Run." The Doctor shouted, not releasing Harry's arm as he began to run to the epicentre of a larger bomb. The closer they got, the more of the masked people there were before them. Eventually, the crowd of them was so thick, they had to duck into a nearby building - dilapidated as it was.

A knocking on the door started shortly after, rhythmic and continuous, letting the pair know the masked people were still outside. Suddenly, a back entrance to the house opened, and Rose ran into the room, soon followed by another man.

"Doctor! And… Why do I recognise you?" Rose asked, excitement and relief at seeing her travelling companion turning rapidly to confusion at seeing Harry.

"Captain Jack Harkness, at your service, sir." The other man said with a smirk, as his eyes roved over Harry's form.

"Caelum Everly. I feel I should tell you that Harkness is dead as of two days ago. Wrong place at the wrong time."

"You told me your name was Harrison last time I saw you."," The Doctor interrupted, as Jack's grin slipped off his face, an eyebrow rising when he heard the Doctor.

"It was, but now I'm Caelum. I was thinking Lincoln next, or maybe Arnold. Walter would be an interesting name and I don't think it'll be relevant for much longer…" Harry trailed off, looking at the confused faces of the two humans and the analytical glint in the eye of the Doctor.

"Hold on, you're speaking as though you're going to make - what - an identity to use. You can't live long enough to go through so many." Rose said.

"If you say so." Harry shrugged.

"Where did you meet him?" Asked Jack, looking back to the blond.

"1869, Cardiff." The Doctor answered.

"Time Agent? Did they screw you over too?" Jack questions.

Harry quirks an amused brow at him. "Is that what happened to you? Worked as a time traveller until you realised you were expendable to them?"

"He's not a Time Agent - I'd know. I can feel it on you, but it's not on him." The Doctor says.

"You're listening now, are you Doctor? Maybe I just know how to be quiet." A smirk was sent the Doctors way before Harry again focused on his occlumency shields, keeping his eyes on the Doctor as he dropped them off, layer by layer. It was really only a little, the bare minimum, for his presence to be felt to any degree. He also dropped the filter he'd built against the Doctor's presence, once again hearing the man's thoughts.

He listened, as he lowered his shields, studying the emotions that filtered out from the Doctor as they swirled around in his head, hidden behind dark eyes. Confusion and scepticism gave way when he could finally be heard, surprise and excitement taking over, as his mind, once again, raced. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Jack looking at him intently, apparently straining to feel what the Doctor could.

"Psychics exist in the future then?" Harry asked.

"You don't feel right," The Doctor suddenly declared. "Not quite like time, as time travellers tend to. How did you get to 1941?"

"Shouldn't we be focusing on more important things?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide his change in topic.

"You say that, but you still don't look very concerned," the Doctor observed.

"We're in the middle of London, it's WW2 and the Germans are dropping bombs on us. The concerned people are all in basements and bomb shelters." Harry responded, sardonic.

"That's true. So, Jack, why aren't you being a sensible person and hiding somewhere? Why are you even still in 1941 - I'm sure a rogue time agent from the 51st has better times to be in?" Asked The Doctor.

"My vortex manipulator is broken, but I do have a warship for sale, if you want one." Jack fired back with a smile.

"That's a lie." The Doctor exclaimed bluntly.

"I assure you, it's not. I have an alien warship I want to sell."

"You're a conman - that smile is much too practiced. So what are you really trying to sell me?" The Doctor asked.

"A warship." Jack repeated insistently. He was met with a flat look from the Doctor and after a minute or so of staring, he caved.

"It's a Chuala medical ship. A fine ship," Jack wouldn't let it go.

"And you don't think that it could have something to do with all these people coming back to life?" The Doctor asked.

"This is definitely not my doing, but I don't think staying in here is going to be viable for much longer." Jack responded.

"It's going to spread like an epidemic, faster than anything I've yet to see." Harry cut in. "We're going to need to figure out a way to shut down the tech in them." He finished, tracking how far it had spread with his magic. All the people who'd become 'empty' felt tainted slightly - like their time should have been up. More obvious was the feel of their minds, the connecting web spanned out around them.

"Do you have any suggestions then?" The Doctor asked.

Harry tilted his head to the side as he considered the Doctor. He thought on the man's presence, the anguish and sadness that seemed to always be present. Felt out the sparks of joy and excitement. More importantly he felt the layers of the man's life, the time between, when he should have died. Tried to feel out what about them, was fundamentally the same. Most telling was the man's name - The Doctor. Harry shook his head slowly.

"No. Or at least, not one you'd approve of." Harry finally responded.

"Why? What would you do?" Rose interrupted. "And I still want to know how you're here, by the way."

Harry shifted, as he turned to look at Rose, debating within himself, as his magic flowed under his skin. His hand moved to rest on the handle of his Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife. His magic moved with him, twisting and racing, easily including the bladed form of the first Deathly Hallow into its path around him. Death now stood in a shadowed corner of the room, observing the four, patiently following the conversation. His suit was much more appropriate for the age than when Harry first stepped through the veil, dull and faded, as it was.

"I'm a soldier, Rose. I'd do what I'm trained to do when confronted with an enemy." Harry said - and though the reasoning was different, he wasn't lying in what he said. None of the people in that twisted, technological web should have been alive. Dying wasn't a bad thing anyway, as many people thought. It was peaceful, forever in but a moment.

"No, definitely not." The Doctor said grimly, as dawning horror showed itself on Roses face.

"As I said, you wouldn't approve, Doctor." Harry said, a bitter smirk making its way to his face, for his real thoughts, were of the one thing he truly wanted. Books are a doorway to another world, and one rested in Harry's pocket, unopened - his own Hallow - untouched. He couldn't go and he would always be envious of those who still found use in running.

"Of course I wouldn't," The Doctor replied. "That's dozens of people you're suggesting just killing. Besides that, haven't you noticed they start off already dead, so there's really no way you could kill them, soldier boy." The Doctor continued, disgust lacing his voice, thoughts agitated and angry.

"We need-" The Doctor cut off, and the sudden silence was overwhelmingly loud.

"Why did the knocking stop?" Rose asked cautiously.

"They're not gone; some are keeping track of the web's centre while a few seem to be preparing to break either the door or window." Harry said nonchalantly.

"Ah, right. I think that means we should get out of here." said Jack. "I might overshoot dates when I travel, but I believe my manipulator can do a short hop across space. Grab on, I'll just calibrate this and…" A few button presses later and the three grabbed onto Jack, as he prepared to activate his manipulator. The sound of breaking glass shattered through the air and the four disappeared in a disorienting swirl.

"Huh, she really did want to make an impression." Harry commented to Death upon their reappearance. Time had felt immense in their short burst while in the vortex, a bottomless ocean stretching in every direction. Carefully controlled - yet wild and untameable. A river - flowing, rushing and racing - on and on - to a near inconceivable eternity. Bright and vivid, unerring in its path. The presence of Time was comparable only to - possibly - his own. Harry was an embodiment of Death, not Death but existing solely due to his power in but a single universe - capable of travelling between. Always moving forward but destined to never end.

Likewise, Time here was forever, a concept and idea personified. Time only existed as it did here in this one Universe, remaining a facet and part of Death, in all other worlds.

"Who's the lucky girl, to have you thinking of her at a time like this? It must have been some impression." Jack said with a suggestive smirk.

"Time." Harry said slowly.

"First time in the time vortex?" Jack asked.

"It's 1941. Do I look like I have the necessary equipment to time travel?" Harry questioned back.

"If you haven't time travelled - how are you here now?" Rose asked.

Harry didn't respond, other than to grin at her, sharing an amused glance with Death. He watched The Doctor's eyes flicker to where he'd looked, listened as his thoughts spun in confusion. They couldn't see Death, were unable to see the end. His grin widened on his face slightly, even as he registered Jack thinking he was a little bit mad. Death chuckled softly - finding some bizarre amusement in the situation.

"My Master, you were already mad the first time I met you. That has not since changed." Death said.

Harry ignored him, aware that answering would only solidify the questionability of his sanity to his three observers.

"Since killing them isn't a viable option, does anyone else have a suggestion to – well, save I suppose, all the people who've been infected?" Harry asked, again turning the topic off of himself.

"Re-programme the tech. At the moment the nanogenes think that humans are meant to have the gas masks on, so they're 'fixing' everyone they get into contact with to have them. We'll need to figure out who the index case is, change their gene-code record and then let the change spread out through that web to heal everyone else. Nobody needs to die." The Doctor said, forceful and certain with straight backed determination.

"Do you know who the index case is?" Jack asked.

"Not ye-"

"Yes."

Harry and the Doctor spoke simultaneously, and the Doctor left off when he heard Harry's response.

"How do you know who it is? You've been with me the whole time and I certainly would have noticed anything you did." The Doctor stated.

"You really have no modesty. I've already told you that you don't listen. I tapped into the psychic network running between them, pulled on the threads until I found the epicentre. You really have two options by the way, rather than the one you've given us." Harry said.

"What's the second option?" Rose questioned.

"There's two central links. There's our index case - the little boy who wants to find his mummy. On the other hand, there's still the small object - I'd say it's a canister of some kind - which everything maintains a link to. I'd make the assumption to that being where the nanogenes originated from, and that it's some kind of control mechanism." Harry answered.

"Right, so we just have to find that and I can reprogram everything - probably easier than doing it through a person anyway, considering it seems to spread through contact." The Doctor said, determined now that he had a solid plan.

"I could just tell you where it is." Harry said idly.

"Well why didn't you say that earlier?" The Doctor asked him, sounding incredulous.

"I did. You didn't listen. I'd say you're just too used to having people relying on you and solving problems on your own. When others have suggestions, you hardly even register them, for all the use they've been in the past. Too busy running from the inevitable, to slow down and listen to a stupid ape, aren't you Doctor?" Harry answered, amused, but mostly sad and pitying this broken man - too afraid to stop and smell the roses.

"Hey now, that's hardly fair. Besides, I don't know you - why should I believe anything you say?" The Doctor challenged.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as eyes too bright, glittered with mirth. "You're really not fooling anyone - you've wanted to know all about me since you scanned me with your sonic. I've also blatantly told you I'm psychic, and you're a curious man - if I'm human, 17 and not a time traveller, then how is it I'm here - 72 years after we first met?" He chuckled again. "Even if you didn't believe me, you'd still do whatever I suggested - just for thrill, the chance to see what I am and what I want. For the mere distraction." Harry finished, gaze sharp and knowing.

"Well, he's hardly known you for an hour and already has you pinned." Rose said, cutting in to the conversation.

"I resent that! I do not go looking for danger or trouble. Especially not for no good reason." The Doctor protested.

"No?" Rose asked. "So the last, oh, I don't know. Say the last 3 stops we've made have been entirely safe? You haven't gone looking for the one strange thing that may or may not be happening?" She continued, sarcasm and rhetoric thick in her voice.

"That's all coincidence!" The man defended.

"He's lying - you're correct, Caelum. This silly alien does go looking for trouble. Continuously. Always being a hero - saving people and races and whole worlds. It's amazing, honestly. Getting to travel with him." Rose said with an eye roll, though it was obvious she admired the man greatly. "The things I've done. The places I've seen - because of him. Despite all the trouble, I wouldn't take back a moment of it." Rose said, excitement radiating from her presence to Harry's senses.

"Alien?" Jack asked, curious. "I've see a lot of aliens in my time, and you do not look like any of them. Although, you make a fine specimen of the human race." He continued with a leer.

"He's an alien." Harry confirmed blandly, earning himself three curious looks. He didn't continue, simply raising an eyebrow in invitation. Honestly, it'd been a long time since he'd had this much fun - so long secluded and hidden behind young personas. Teasing these three, holding all his knowledge just out of reach to them - maybe his humour had gotten a little strange in his old age. A little bit dark and a little bit cruel.

"How would you know?" Jack asked. "I'm starting to think you're an alien yourself, though just as fine a specimen."

"Yes, how would you know?" The Doctor repeated, again pulling out his sonic to scan Harry.

"Lots of ways." Harry said, and shared a grin with Death when the being chuckled - as Harry had stopped speaking as though fully intending to say no more.

Curiosity and impatience seared through their presences, a burning desire to know.

"Well?" Rose finally prompted.

"He's older than the both of you combined 10 times over and has two hearts." Harry said.

"He could've told you that - he told me the first day we met." Rose said, huffing and obviously disappointed. "Tell me something... something I don't know." She challenged.

"I did." Harry said, grinning at their confusion. He focused then, on the thoughts and ideas spinning around their heads. Jack was stuck on the basic things he'd revealed about the Doctor, while Rose kept replaying the sentence again and again in frustrated confusion.

Harry didn't know what the Doctor was thinking, words and ideas flying through his mind - and he heard some repeated. Curiosity and a furious focus on the problem - it was absolute and to the exclusion of all else.

Harry knew he'd figure it out - given enough time, but... not yet. He wanted to keep this mystery going a little bit longer.

"You know," he begun, interrupting their thoughts. "There are still people down there, being controlled by nanogenes. The world doesn't stop spinning just because you're curious." He pointed out.

"Right. So, Jack, would you kindly teleport us back down to the ground." The Doctor commanded, more then asked.

"Sure, where do we need to go?" Jack asked, turning to Harry for the answer.

"About 10km to the east, though it might be best to drop a km out and approach on foot." He responded promptly.

"Alright, if everyone would stand on the teleport plate over there, give me a moment to calibrate and... done." Jack said, joining the others on the small section of the ship. He glanced once at each of the other people, then a final button press saw them disappearing.

Lines blurred, skin and flesh and bones coming apart. His body breaking to pieces and consciousness fighting to anchor. His magic fought, straining against his control to turn to ash the machine trying to tear him apart. The seams were coming undone - everything he was being scattered.

He was floating, and there was nothing. There was silence and darkness and an empty, hollow feeling as though there was no air - no need for it. An eternity; a moment. Then it all rushed in like a tsunami, a force of nature overwhelming everything in its path. There was everything. Begging, pleading and laughing. Crying. Burning and freezing and bleeding. Numbness trying to consume him even as every nerve screamed in the agony of a billion deaths - of every death. He was every ending at once, every eternity just beginning.

It was too much and he was lost, floating in the sea of sensation. A familiar cold, green tinted power - suffocating in its vastness but so painfully familiar. Death gathered him up, pulled all the fraying edges of his mind close together and became that anchor he so desperately needed. His magic rippled and calmed from its wild state, reaching out to all the fragments of him, dragging them together. Piece by tiny piece, Death and magic put together Harry's scattered being as his mind tried to cope, attempted to process the billions of deaths he'd felt.

Then he was back together, snapping into reality as the Doctor, Jack and Rose appeared before him. However, while he was whole and alive he wasn't _together_ , Occlumency fractured and weak and barely better than broken. On instinct all three froze - even Rose with virtually no telepathy. Very real, primal fear holding them in place as the air felt brittle and cold on their skin.

Their minds were screaming panic, the same phrases spinning through their heads in a frenzy - torn between fight or flight. The world held its breath.

Harry breathed in deeply, settled his mind to here and now and alive with the familiar smell of dirt, smog and corpses. He breathed out, layer after layer of wall going up around his mind. Guarding and protecting and _hiding_. Locking the darkest parts of himself away. The world breathed again.

Rose stumbled, shoulders loosening and legs going weak as the pressure just – disappeared.

"Dematerialisation. Disconcerting, I think that is my least favourite method of teleportation so far." Harry commented. His magic flowed, rippled away from him. Made the last minute a little fuzzy - the source hard to identify.

"How many different types of teleportation have you experienced? As you pointed out earlier, it's 1941. There aren't that many options." The Doctor asked, frustration and wary fear bleeding into his voice. It was obvious to Harry that his curiosity was almost absolute, caution the only contender for his attention. The burning desire to know, building forever higher.

"Did I just get dematerialised?" Rose piped in, studying her hands as though to make sure all her fingers were still there. She shivered, trying still to fight off the effects of Harry's presence.

"Yes. Most basic and common form of teleportation. Also the safest for use on the injured, which makes sense seeing as it is a medical vessel. The real question, how did _Caelum_ know that - how were you aware enough while _dematerialised_ to note what happened?" The Doctor asked, and Rose and Jack blinked, flabbergasted as they realised exactly what the Doctor was saying.

"To be fair, it was a very slow dematerialisation - very disconcerting." Harry responded, rolling his shoulders and working out the phantom feeling of being broken apart. He knew he shouldn't have felt what happened to the degree he did, but his body, his magic - his very _being_ fought against the teleport. He was as he would always be, unchanging for eternity.

He could not be broken or dismantled or made anything _less_ than what he was. The pieces of him were separated and scattered though he remained aware - consciousness holding onto Death. He is _human_ , though, and humans cannot handle omniscience.

"But it was instant! We were in the ship then we were here." Rose said.

"Not quite." The Doctor disagreed. "It took 3.96 seconds. But, the first thing they're built to do is remove your consciousness, and the last is to put it back - so you don't experience actually being dematerialised."

"Can I ask about whatever the _hell_ was here before us?" Jack interrupted. "The science lesson is great- fascinating really, but whatever that psychic presence was is terrifying. I would really like to know where it came from, so I can _run the other way._ " He continued emphatically, outwardly calm but heart still pounding with instinctual fear.

"It's gone - whatever it was. There's nothing left of it here, nothing to find, nothing to point us in the right direction. Nothing. Might as well forget about it. Move on." The Doctor said shortly, and Harry suppressed a laugh.

Death had no such compunctions, chuckling for only Harry to hear - because they knew what the Doctor didn't say. They knew he was afraid, and he'd already started running. Another demon in the shadows to hide from, to avoid, to make sure he doesn't stop so they'll never catch up. The Doctor knew Death, and he didn't want to pause long enough to recognise the feeling.

"I think we should just, uh, continue. Yeah? If there's nothing we can do, we should go back to saving those we can." Rose said, uncomfortable and uncertain with the Doctors sudden change - she'd never seen him run away from a problem. Sure, they did a lot of running away, but they always went back.

"Right, yes. Caelum, where's this container?" The Doctor asked, grabbing at the distraction and turning his focus to things he could change for the better. Lives that could be saved, Deaths that didn't have to happen yet.

"Over here, but I should warn you that all the infected are congregating in the area - might be a little difficult for you to get over there." Harry responded, turning and walking through increasingly damaged streets. The other three followed without complaint - eager to get away from the feeling of Death lingering around them.

A wind carrying fetid air whistled around the buildings before them and in the distance fires raged in the wake of dropped bombs. Sirens wailed but the chaos didn't reach them as they picked their way through the rubble. None of them spoke, though Harry eyed every corner, every stone where Death had claimed another soul - only to be dragged back from their eternity. Alive but not whole. Surviving on borrowed time and broken tech.

Neither Harry nor Death took issue though - with age came patience and humans do not live particularly long. So they led the small party towards the crash site until there was no more rubble to pick through, as the area before them opened up - inaccessible due to a hastily erected fence.

"Well, that just won't do." The Doctor proclaimed, striding over to the obstruction, already pulling out the small sonic device and fiddling with the settings. "Once we're inside," he began, talking as he worked. "You're all going to need to try to be as careful and quiet as possible. I don't fancy a run in with the local troops." That said, he shoved aside the now cut fencing and ducked down to get through the hole.

Harry followed easily, eyes scanning his surroundings in a smooth, practiced motion.

The Doctor strode confidently forward, bold and straight backed despite his earlier words. Harry wasn't concerned, and while Jack was clearly more cautious Rose trailed after the alien with clear trust in his ability to keep her safe.

When the object of their search came into view - a car sized pod made of thick metal that Harry was certain was stronger than the iron it resembled, but couldn't immediately identify - he knew they wouldn't get out easily without military interference. The whole area was bathed in bright light, and a couple of standard command tents had been set up just beyond it.

The Doctor slowed to a stop, mind spinning as he tried to work out how to get to the device uninterrupted. A dozen ideas were created and discarded, each faster than the last. After another frustration tainted plan was formed and thrown away - and he knew from the Doctors previous manner that he was only having difficulty because he was still shaken by Harry's earlier slip - Harry decided to act on his own. He could feel one of the many men he'd worked with over by the tent, and figured to keep the lot of them distracted while the Doctor had his fun.

Slowly, confidently, he began walking directly towards the tent. Barely three steps in he was interrupted - as expected.

"Wait, Caelum, where are you going?" Asked the Doctor, voice and thoughts thick with alarm.

"To speak with Lieutenant Dubois." Harry called back without breaking stride.

"We need a plan first! You can't just go swanning off - that's not how this works!" The Doctor said, and Harry could tell the man was thrown, scrabbling desperately for a way to get back control of the situation. To rein in the anomaly before him and take charge once more.

"Improvise!" Harry yelled in response, a grin tugging the corner of his lips. He heard the Doctors thoughts twist, jump to another idea and another and yet more until he had a web of actions, reactions and contingencies. Every possible future laid out before him. So Harry grinned again to himself, ignoring the fond, pleased smile Death aimed at him as he marched to the tent.

For Harry and Death both knew the Doctor had not been able to shake his fear. The feel of death had clung tight to him, wrapped him in a familiar embrace - offering him peace and quiet and an eternity in a blink. Forever in a moment. They knew the Doctor didn't understand the gift it was, primal fear gripping him and making him run and keep running - as though he could leave all the regrets and pain and fear far behind him.

Harry had forced him to focus, to think of what he was running to, what lay ahead of him rather than lingering on what was behind. Harry recognised the need for a distraction, a focal point, an emergency demanding full focus now to prevent disaster - was familiar with the devastating mix of emotions from his own youth - and had therefore given the Doctor no choice but to push forwards.

It wouldn't last forever, could never be enough to keep the demons at bay, but for now it would suffice. The Doctor still had a chance to outrun them.

So Harry marched to the cluster of tents, ignoring the frantic thoughts of the three behind him. Ahead, Harry could feel the presence of Lieutenant Dubois strung tight from worry, fear and stress. They'd worked together a few months back in a relatively small skirmish against some German aircraft. They were comrades borne in blood and fire, and there was an easy respect between them.

Harry himself was a Corporal and had gained a reputation among those he'd worked with directly for bringing more men back than most others - it earned him a higher standing with his peers than his rank denoted. He exchanged a sharp nod with a pair of soldiers marching away from the tents, stepping through the canvas flap serving as a door soon after.

Lieutenant Dubois glanced up at the interruption before returning his focus to the map before him. It was spread across the table crammed into the tent - barely fitting along with the other crates of equipment stacked against the flimsy walls. Only once Harry was almost before him did the Lieutenant straighten to give him his attention.

Harry frowned even as he brought his arm up in sharp salute, focus on his magic and the tangled web of technology. It was ever growing, ensnaring dozens of minds and constantly reaching out to pull in more. Changing them from alive to dead - copied injuries writing themselves into each person, far too severe to survive - bringing them full circle to a parody of life.

A ripple of power spread through the tent in a sharp burst, magic a finely tuned force directed at the invader. The nanogenes short circuited, a single thread building itself between Lieutenant Dubois and the little boy unceremoniously cut before it could take hold. "That was cruel, my Master. You've long known I am far kinder than Life or Time." Death commented.

"At ease, Corporal. What brings you here?" The Lieut. asked.

"I was in the area when the sirens went off, thought I'd come help out."

"It's appreciated. I've just got the men preparing at the moment - nothing we can do until the bombs stop falling. Even so, this areas been deserted for a long while, so I don't expect we'll find too many casualties when we get out there." Dubois responded.

"That's true, thankfully. Why are you posted out here anyway? As you said, there aren't a lot of people still in this area of the city." Harry asked.

"Something strange landed out here a while back and I've got orders to investigate and keep the civilians out. Can't rightly tell you anything about it though - where it came from, what it's made of, what it does or how to get inside." Dubois said, frustrated. "Honestly seems to me like a waste of resources. Lock the thing away somewhere to look at later - my men and I would be more useful elsewhere."

"Too right. There's always a need for more forces. What are your orders, sir?" Harry asked.

"Might as well take a look at that pod - maybe you'll see something I missed. Fresh set of eyes and all that. Once we see the last of these bombs I'll need all hands on clean up." Lieutenant Dubois commanded.

"Sir." Harry responded with a sharp salute, and the officer responded in kind. At the dismissal of the action, Harry turned on his heel and marched from the tent.

He passed by many harried soldiers, each of them tense with anticipation and the awareness that the next bomb could as easily fall in the heart of the city as it could on them.

It was simple enough for Harry to track down the Doctor, having not stopped following him mentally since they parted ways. It came as no surprise to Harry to find the three had been accosted by a couple of soldiers, and the older man was trying to talk his way out of the situation. He had the confidence, but lacked the military bearing to convince the pair he belonged.

"It's okay gents, I'll take care of this – let you get back to it." Harry interrupted, stopping just beside his comrades, thereby giving the impression he was on their side.

"And you are?" One of them asked, casting a suspicious eye at his civilian clothing.

"Corporal Everly. Not sure if you remember me, but our units worked together a few months back – just past the border? I'm on leave at the moment, but thought the Lieutenant would like an extra set of hands when the sirens have stopped." Harry answered easily.

"Rings a bell. You going to be right with these three by yourself, sir?"

"I can't see them giving me any trouble."

"Then we'd best be moving. Hope to see you around, Corporal." When the pair had departed, Harry turned his full attention to the time travellers.

"I could've handled that." The Doctor said.

"What he means to say is thank you." Rose cut in, exasperated.

"I'm sure. Either way, capsules back this way – try to be a little subtle, though? I don't fancy an official reprimanded whilst I'm not on duty." Harry didn't wait for a response, immediately marching off.

He ignored the Doctors frustrated thoughts, ignored the feel of a technological disease spreading, holding onto souls that were rightfully his. Ignored the feel of thunder beneath his feet, and all the lives lost as buildings crumbled in concussive waves of fire. Instead, he focused on the little boy at the centre of the web – on the telepathic network blanketing the city.

"Right, let's take a look at this!" The Doctor exclaimed as the capsule finally came into view, running towards the contraption and abandoning caution and common-sense alike. Harry did a cursory examination of the exterior, but paid more attention to the Doctor's indecipherable thoughts.

"What is it, Doctor?" Rose asked.

"Nanogenes. Tiny little robots, built to heal any wound. This pod here is a storage container for them. These ones though, were built with a little bit extra – where normally they'd stop at healing someone, these form a sort of bond with everyone they come into contact with. They influence a person, take them over. The more people they get inside and infect the more people on their side of the fight. They were purpose built for the battlefield." The Doctor said, eyes alight with excitement and fascination.

"So what, they're just trying to heal everyone?" Rose queried.

"But then why are they forming gas masks out of everybody's faces? Also, why are they always asking 'where's my mummy'?" Jack asked, his own knowledge of future tech helping him see just how wrong things had gone.

"Ah, that's a bit hard to explain. The Nanogenes build a psychic network between everyone they've healed – they're all connected. In a war that would be a massive boon, it'd be incredibly easy to coordinate attacks and such. But, they'd never encountered humans before, didn't know how to heal you all properly. So they took the first person they came across and assumed that was healthy, our index case. He's taken control of the psychic network, and is projecting his desire to find his mother outward.

"Additionally, the Nanogenes are assuming everyone who doesn't have a gas mask is injured, and is attempting to heal them as well. It just changes them a little bit."

"Right. So can you fix it?" Rose asked, frowning.

"Easy, just give me some time and everybody will be back to normal. Like nothing happened. Better even." The Doctor confirmed with a large grin.

"I hope you don't need too long, Doctor." Harry interrupted calmly. "Your playing around over there attracted their attention, and they're all headed our way. Also, can I remind you that this is a restricted military area? We're lucky they're preoccupied currently, but they'll take note once our friends start arriving."

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" The Doctor asked.

"You were so happy lecturing about what we were looking at - it didn't feel right to interrupt. The infected are about two minutes away." Harry replied, amused.

"We've got about 10 minutes before a bomb falls on our location as well." Jack interrupts, looking at a device strapped to his wrist.

"What?!" Rose exclaims, turning to look at Jack. Harry could hear the new fear threading through her thoughts. "You didn't think to mention that earlier?"

"It was part of the con. I sell off the ship, and then conveniently, the whole thing gets destroyed. Skip town with the money and I've sold a hunk of space junk with none the wiser." Jack says with a smug grin.

"All for the better." The Doctor cuts in. "You humans aren't ready for this kind of technology. Destroying it after this is the best thing we could do. For now though-" Harry watches, intrigued, as the other man cycles through screens on a small display recessed into the capsule. Shortly, he stops, settling on a screen with as many indecipherable symbols as all the rest. It was no language Harry had ever seen.

"Caelum, could I trouble you for a hair?" The Doctor asked.

"Is it to use as a base sample to reconfigure the nanogenes?" Harry queried.

"That's exactly it." The Doctor was already turning away, opening the sample tray on the capsules controller.

"No." Harry interrupted flatly, and the Doctor spun back to face him, shocked.

"What do you mean no?"

"You scanned me earlier with your sonic – what did it tell you?" Harry fired back.

"It said you're human, 17, male and healthy." The Doctor answered.

"I recall saying it was good sonic." Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "Surely, it can tell you more than that."

The Doctor's mind spun, rising to the challenge as he brought forth the small device once more. "Male, 17, born around 1980. You don't have any illnesses – viral or bacterial. None of the microtech Jack has that's in humanities future. You're saturated with radiation which I've never even seen before, and judging by the levels should have killed you on principle. We've already proven you're psychic. And-" The Doctor paused, examining his screwdriver before waving it at Harry again, frowning.

"What is it Doctor?" Rose asked.

"He's got 48 Chromosomes. 24 Pairs. That can't be right." He said, adjusting the settings on the screwdriver.

Harry raised an eyebrow, loosening his hold on his magic. Again he scanned the three before him. With the right combination of control and knowledge – plus his brief foray into medi-wizadry when he was young and thought the few extra years he could give people meant something – Harry could scan a person's DNA.

"20th and 51st century?" He asks, turning to face Rose and Jack.

"That's right, and you're 20th as well. We're' only a few decades short of your date of birth, according to the Doctor." Jack said. "And 17? You'd make a cradle robber of me."

"Do you flirt with everyone?" The Doctor interrupted. "Caelum is at least 85 - if his claims that he hasn't time travelled are true - so you don't need to be too worried about your morals."

"Back to the problem at hand," Harry cuts in. "I'm sure you now see why you should use someone else's DNA. I'd imagine adding an additional chromosome pair to anyone's genetics would destabilise the double helix construct. You'd be lucky if the worst thing to come out of that is their death."

"You seem very certain of that. You must've had the additional sequence added at some point, and you're still kicking. Can't be too bad." The Doctor responded.

"Is that a risk you're willing to take?" Harry fired back.

"Just use my DNA, Doctor." Rose volunteered, interrupting the budding argument. "What do you need, a strand of hair?"

"That'd work. Judging by the differences between Rose and Jack, there isn't too much variance in human genetics for at least the next three-hundred years." Harry said.

"Brilliant Rose!" The Doctor exclaimed, taking the offered hair. Quickly, he placed the strand on the sample tray, and returned to his manipulation of the alien machine, thoughts alight with excitement.

Those same thoughts soon turned slightly manic as the first of the infected walked robotically into the cordoned off area.

"Are you my mummy?" The man's voice rang out, sounding lost and young despite the age its depth implied. Harry palmed his knife, magic thrumming beneath his fingers as he stood coiled and ready. Beside him Jack had drawn a futuristic looking gun, though not yet taking aim.

"Weren't you listening earlier?" The Doctor called back to them. "You can't kill them – the nanogenes will only heal them again."

"With all due respect, Doctor, I feel much more comfortable armed. It's not in my nature to give up without a fight." Jack replied.

"And you, Caelum? The tech will infect you as soon as you're close enough to strike them with that. As much as I hate guns, you're little knife is useless."

Harry shrugged. "If you don't want me to kill them, perhaps you should focus on making sure it's unnecessary?" He suggested.

"Of course it won't be necessary. I'm just waiting for the override to process." The Doctor said. "Aha!" Triumphantly, he hit a button one last time, and turned around to watch.

The now dozen gas masked people stopped mid-stride, the synchronisation lending an eerie tone to the scene.

"What's happening, Doctor?" Rose asked, uncertain.

"Today Rose," The Doctor started - and Harry could hear the true joy in both his voice and thoughts – "for once, everybody LIVES!" He shouted, gesturing wildly to the frozen people before him. Slowly, the masks sunk back into their faces, identical wounds healing before their eyes. The Doctor laughed and grabbed Rose into a hug. Jack grinned as well, holstering his gun and Harry could see the relief in his eyes.

Beside the wizard, Death chuckled, voice dry as dust. "Not today, my Master. As the Time Lord said, today, everybody lives."

"You and I both know they aren't lucky for that, Old Friend." Harry responded quietly, both in longing and resignation to his immortality.

"Shit! The bomb!" Jack suddenly exclaimed, fiddling with his watch-like contraption in panic.

"Jack!" Rose called, but the man had already disappeared.

"Everyone clear out!" the Doctor yelled, dragging Rose behind him as he ran, hoping he wasn't too late. Knowing he was.

Harry only stood beside the capsule which had minutes ago been their greatest worry, calm as he'd been since The Doctor first saw him earlier in the night. Harry looked up, hearing the whistle that usually came from below his own small plane, rather than above.

Bright light flooded the night, overpowering even the spot lights already shining down on them. He didn't recognise the ship hung in the sky above him, but Jack's presence on board was familiar. The bomb was mere metres above him.

Nearby, Rose's thoughts – and the many other humans who'd just been healed – were hysterical with fear and awe.

"Nick of time." Jack's amplified voice rang out around them. "I've got the bomb in suspended animation, so if you all wouldn't mind moving out." He continued, cocksure and confident. Harry could feel the terror buried underneath the practiced calm.

"You coming, Caelum?" Rose called back, so Harry started towards the pair.

"Coming where?" He asked idly.

"I don't know. Have to ask The Doctor that – could be anywhere." She replied, already excited for their next destination.

"Maybe not." Harry said. "Though, you might want to pick Jack up on your way out."

"Why's that?" The Doctor asked, more curious than anything else. Harry could tell he was undecided on the other man.

"You're a smart man, Doctor." Harry said, almost condescending. "I thought you said everyone lives?"

The Doctor paused, contemplating the other for a moment. Harry could hear the epiphany in his thoughts as he caught on to what Harry already knew.

"He can't get off. He has to be on board for the bomb to stay temporally suspended. He won't be able to teleport out fast enough to get away from the blast." The Doctor said, suddenly worried and much fonder of Jack. The Doctor could hardly dislike someone so ready to sacrifice themselves for others.

He grinned, then, face lighting up in excitement as he gripped tight to his companion's hand.

"Come on, Rose! You, me, Jack and the TARDIS - we've got all of time and space to explore. Sure you won't come with us, Caelum?" The Doctor offered, and now his curiosity was burning twice as fierce.

"Live a little. I promise, you won't regret a thing." Rose cajoles, and she's so young and effervescent – but so naïve, that Harry could only pity her.

"I'll wait for the future."

"If you're sure." Rose says, disappointed, and follows The Doctor into the blue police box.

Harry stood on the curb and watched it disappear. Then, he closed his eyes and watched with his magic, felt as it returned beside Jack, the three of them vanishing again seconds after.

He was not so far away to not feel the heat and wind when the bomb detonated moments later. Across the city, others also fell and Harry rolled his shoulders, stretched his magic out to find the nearest military personnel, and headed off.

Caelum Everly was a soldier, and he would do his duty until the day he died.

* * *

A/N: Hi All, thanks for your patience and I've really appreciated every favourite and follow you all have gifted me. Loved every review and comment you've left me, and have done my utmost to take these on board.

Cheers  
Rae


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